Nobodies
by silver-kin
Summary: Just a collection of drabbles I'm setting up to help me get over my writer's block. It will mostly be about Organisation XIII.


This is just something I decided to write in order to keep practicing. I haven't been able to write anything that I'm really happy with for a long time, so I thought doing some word prompts would help me get over the writer's block I am apparently having. These words were taken randomly from the book 'Inkspell'. A pair of die was used to decided which characters to use.

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is the property of Square Enix and Disney.

**Word Practice**

**1. Voice**  
The mission to the coliseum left Demyx more than a little shaken. Even after he returned to the castle, some senses still clung to him, lingering close by; the smell of the dead, the freezing air that chilled him to his bones, the sight of those souls swimming together in the eerie glowing water.

At night, he went to bed feeling the Underworld all around him, hearing their despairing cries and empty whispers in his ears.

**2. Screams**  
They still got nightmares at times. Although none of them would ever admit to it, Lexaeus could see it in their faces every time -- Vexen's even more brittle temper, the strain in Xaldin's features, Xigbar becoming more prone to making explosives and playing pranks.

Their youngest suffered the most from it and as Lexaeus watched, the darkness in his eyes grew with every dream, darkening into something more and more sinister.

He remembered one particular night, during their infant stages as people without hearts. Zexion had been trashing in his sleep, face contorted with multiple emotions at once. Lexaeus had woken him, shaking him out of his dream and in return, the other Nobody had stared at him --through him -- unseeing as the screams and the fire continued to rage behind his eyes, memory after memory flickering in his mind's theatre as he relived the incident all over again.

Then he had blinked and finally returned to the present.

**3. Place**  
There was another place, far back in the deepest reaches of his memory. Before the dark sky and dark city; before the darkness, Saix recalled a place of tall metal buildings and a normal weather. He remembered soldiers, guns, and running in snow, feeling the winter wind rush against him as he outran his pursuers.

He still had his freedom then. That and the ability to run from his problems.

Now there was no such thing as running, no such thing as escape.

**4. Cooking**  
Zexion never cooked. Ever. None of them had ever seen the Nobody do anything in the kitchen, not even the first six. Even when someone threw the fact into his face to remind him that everyone needed to do the cooking once in a while, he would give a look that said, "So?" and walk off.

At one point, a majority of the organisation refused to cook at all until Zexion started doing his part of the chores. The riot was successful in gaining Xemnas attention if only because the best cooks in the castle were a part of it and all 13 of them might, just might be forced to revert to eating oatmeal everyday. Therefore, it was with a slight shrug that Xemnas asked, and then when that did not bring the desired effect, demanded that Zexion cook dinner. With a similarly slight shrug, he headed towards the kitchen.

That night was from then on known as The Incident and Zexion's turn in the kitchen was never brought up again.

**5. Black**  
Everything was black. The coats, the city, the sky, the world, everything. Heck, half of Xigbar's world had been black for the most part of his life. It was driving him insane.

All the place needed was a little more colour. All he needed to do that was a certain someone's agreement with his plan, some gravity and wind spells and a whole lot of paint.

**6. Speak**  
To be frank, Vexen didn't enjoy the company of others, especially the younger half of the organisation. They tended to be more troublesome, more prone to looking for trouble and making a mess. He distanced himself from them, going as far as to ignore them altogether but his efforts bore the ultimate opposite of what he had been aiming for, resulting in the neophytes taking an even bigger interest in bugging him. Larxene, in particular seemed to have made him her prime target for mischief, coming by his labs at the most inopportune moments and catching him in the middle of an experiment or an important breakthrough of some sort.

As expected, his -- admittedly, rather limited -- patience ran out after XII _accidentally_ knocked over an entire table of chemicals which then proceeded to burn a hole first in his notes, then in his table before getting a little too close to a heat source and causing a small explosion in the corner of his laboratory. Then another cabinet burst into flames and they both ran for it.

Outside, Vexen whirled on the culprit, feeling an angry expression settle on his face and promptly exploded himself. "You stupid, incompetent idiot! What could have possibly made you think that _accident_ would be a good idea? Did you think it would be fun to set fire to my notes and lab? Or do you simply like explosions, like that cocky fire-breathing maniac upstairs?"

Larxene blinked a few times, then smirked, her expression turning into satisfaction. "Well, your reaction is _much_ better than I expected."

He paused. "You blew up my lab just to see me angry?" he demanded, livid.

"No," she replied, smoothing down her robes with her fingers. Then she looked at him, green eyes glowing. "I like attention, dear Vexie," she said, pursing her lips into a grin, "That's all."

**7. Believe**  
"How can you be so sure this will work?"

Vexen looked up, glancing at the other blonde. "What will work?"

"This," Demyx said, gesturing to the notes Vexen is in the process of organising. "You do all these experiments and research, spend all your time cooped up in this place and basically having no fun with life whatsoever but do you really, really believe any of this is going to work out?"

Returning his attention to the task at hand, Vexen put in the last few folders before pushing the drawer shut. "Don't let Xemnas hear you say that or he'll think of something worse than the Underworld."

**8. Face**  
The first time he met their soon-to-be tenth member, he thought he was seeing a ghost of the past, come back from the darkness to haunt him for everything he had done -- the ruined castle, the destruction of his kingdom, the release of darkness upon the universe; his stolen work, pride and _name._

His immediate reaction was to tear the man in front of him into a million pieces and feed him to the Heartless; power charged in his hand, static crackling in the air as he drew upon the magic around him. Xemnas raised his arm and aimed at the offender, ready to let the magic burning in his palm explode.

Only then did he notice the other's almost completely relaxed stance: one hand on the pool table as he leaned casually against it, the other holding what looked like a revolver in his fingers and wearing a nonchalant smile on his face. The only thing that gave away his alerted state was the weight of his gaze, the heaviness in his eyes that seemed to be waiting for Xemnas to attack, for him to make the first move and initiate the game.

It was an expression so wholly and utterly unlike anything the old fool would ever have worn that it surprised him out of his anger. The realisation made him drop his arm, letting his focus waver and the magic dissipate into the air.

Once the last traces of energy had disappeared, the other man gave him another smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

**9. Breath**  
Zexion hated being in the same room as XI; in fact, he couldn't stand being anywhere near said Nobody. The man seemed to exude a constant fragrance that would bombard his nose and leave it clogged up for hours, making him dizzier than if he had been standing under a hot desert sun for days.

When confronted about it, Marluxia feigned ignorance. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You smell like you bathe in women's perfume three times a day, and in an extremely girly rose scent at that," he replied, arms crossed in annoyance at having to be this close to speak to him. "Its annoying."

"It bothers you?" he asked, looking absolutely shocked at the notion that his body odour could possibly be disruptive to the peace in Zexion's life.

He felt his frown deepen. "It makes breathing difficult."

Within seconds, the look fled his face only to have a mild, smug smirk take its place. "Well, that's alright then."

**10. Throat**  
Xaldin could still remember his first storm. It had been a dark evening, the remnants of sunlight disappearing from the sky as the sun set. Then, the rain had beaten down on him, trying to force him to his knees even as the wind slammed into him, pushing him backwards. The forces combined made standing a near-impossible task to do and finding ones way home altogether out of the question.

He had sought refugee in an unused, battered hut, under a leaking roof with only his soaked clothes and ruined shoes for company. Outside, the wind had howled, hundreds of wailing spirits forged into one single sound, screaming on into the night and well into the next few days.

Dilan had shivered and fought to stay awake.

Later on, when he recounted the tale of his solitary nights in the woods, Even had turned up his nose, remarking loudly on his idiocy for staying out so late in the first place. The other boys hadn't gone as far, but he could tell they agreed with the blonde.

Only Braig had understood the excitement of his unintended adventure and, between laughing at his hoarse voice, mused aloud that perhaps he should give it a try.

The next time a storm came, the two of them had sore throats for weeks afterwards.

**End**

All forms of comments are welcome. Thank you for your time!


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